


Lessons

by ollipop



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, Families of Choice, Gen, cigarette smoking is bad for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 07:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/783405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ollipop/pseuds/ollipop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You clean the weapon, I’ll fix us some tea."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merryghoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryghoul/gifts).



> Thanks to Silverr for a speedy and thoughtful beta read!
> 
> This is set mid-series, sometime prior to season five.

Madeline usually smokes her first cigarette of the day at the kitchen table while the coffee is brewing, but today she steps out onto the back porch for some fresh air before it gets too hot. Springtime in Miami is already muggy and hot, but the sunlight changes and there are still scraggly tulips that push up through the lawn from those years when Nate still lived at home and tried to dress up the yard in between landscaping gigs. Every year, she tells herself that she’ll dig them up and put them into a proper flower bed, and every year she puts it off.

Maybe now that Sam and Michael are here on a regular basis, she could hint to one of them that it needs to be done. But Michael only wants to deal with projects after they’ve broken and he gets the chance to come charging to the rescue. Perhaps the way to get his attention would be to kidnap the tulips, or tell him that there is a suspected plant thief in the neighborhood and that he should help them huddle for safety. She snorts quietly and heads back inside.

Today, she’s expecting Michael to come by and fix the leak under the sink. He’ll be late, of course, and in a hurry, and he’ll roll his eyes when she explains the problem with the pipe. Then, impossibly quickly, he’ll make the repair and look up with a triumphant smile. He’ll say, “All better, ma. Try not to break it again?” and she’ll ruffle his hair before she hands him a yogurt. She’ll sit across the kitchen table from him and twist the yogurt lid into tiny pieces, resisting the urge for a cigarette. Eventually she’ll cave and light up, which will always prompt his departure.

On the days she can keep from lighting up, she gets to hear him chat about basketball, or that yacht the cops found off the coast, or about how it’s too damn early in the year to be this hot. Too soon, he’ll make an excuse about meeting Sam for a beer or changing the oil on the Charger, or whatever story he’s using to cover up his latest criminal activity. She always nods and pretends that she’s taken in.

+++

Madeline is on the couch with a _Woman’s Day_ and another cigarette when hears a scratching near the entry way. It’s probably those mice again, even though Nate had assured her there was no way they could get back into the walls.

Then she hears a second scratching noise at the entry, this one metallic— _not_ a mouse. Suddenly she’s on guard, her head spinning slightly as she adjusts to the idea of an intruder.

She takes one more long drag for courage and stubs out the cigarette. Then she rises from the chair and moves towards the kitchen almost soundlessly. She pulls the gun from the panel under the table; it’s still heavy and awkward in her hands.

She takes a position by the back door, back to the pantry, hands shaking. The window leading to the back yard is cloudy and streaked. She should have cleaned it last Saturday, instead of wasting the day at bridge club—but she can still see the back yard is empty, leaves still and heavy on the trees. Not the wind, then.

Madeline feels her breath catch, forces herself to count to ten, then to sixty. She lights another cig from the pack in the kitchen, takes a long drag, and counts up to sixty again. Just when she’s getting ready to sit back down, she hears a shuffle from the living room and the sound of the magazine falling to the floor.

“Maddie?” the voice calls out. “It’s Fi.”

Madeline’s shoulders slump as she relaxes, leaning back against the pantry for a moment and taking another drag before she collects herself and returns to the living room. “You scared me to death, Fi,” she grumbles. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Fiona shrugs. “Just wanted to see if I could surprise you,” she says affectionately. “Thanks for not shooting me.”

Madeline collapses back onto the couch and drops the gun onto the coffee table. “Even Michael knocks, these days.” 

“Though I don’t think you could have hit me, shooting one-handed,” said Fiona wryly. Her casual tone told Madeline that she’d had no concerns about walking in to face an old lady with a handgun. “Why didn’t you drop the cigarette?”

“I’d just lit it! And you might have just been a mouse.”

“Well, it would have slowed you down if you’d needed to shoot. Drop it next time, okay?” Fiona asks. Her voice is calm, patient. She and Maddie have done this part of the lesson before.

“Maybe I could burn someone with it,” Madeline offers.

“Maybe, but if you’re that close to them, put a bullet in them instead. Cigarette burns don’t kill you,” Fi said.

Madeline looks down at the inside of her arm. It’s still scarred with pale white pock marks from the cigarette burns she’d collected years ago from Frank.  

“Even though they hurt like hell,” Fi says, softer.

She tugs at her sleeve uselessly and glares at Fiona. Fi seems to get the message: we’re not talking about that today.

+++

Fiona picks up the gun and drops the magazine out, then racks the slide twice and points the gun towards the floor. With a _click_ of the trigger and one smooth overhand pull, the gun is open and Fi is peering down the barrel, delicately tracing the spring with the tip of one finger.

“You haven’t cleaned this in days.”

“I haven’t shot it, either.”

“Yes, but we agreed that you’d clean it every other day until you got a little more comfortable with it.”

“How do you know I haven’t cleaned it?” Maddie protests.

“I have my ways.” Fiona lifts out a single thread from the recoil spring.

“I was busy,” Maddie says defensively.

Fiona arches her eyebrows and takes in the _Woman’s Day_ , the nail polish on the coffee table, and the crossword puzzle. “Mmm-hmm. Well, let’s sit down and we can get that taken care of. You ready for another lesson?”

“I don’t even know why you gave me a gun,” Maddie grumbles. “It’s one more thing to clean, y’know. And my aim is terrible.”

“We’re working on it,” Fi replies.

It’s nice to have another woman around, someone who’s on her side, someone who won’t talk down to her. It’s not quite like having a daughter, but being with Fiona reminds her of being young. Madeline is starting to build a new memory, a version of herself that was young and brave. A version who could defend herself.

“Well, since you’re here,” she tries and fails to make her voice stern. “Have a seat, honey. You want a glass of iced tea?”

“You clean the weapon, I’ll fix us some tea. Then we can talk about magazines.” Fi drops a cloth bag on the table with a _clank_ and heads towards the kitchen.

Maddie smiles, stubs out her cigarette, and then reaches for the bag.


End file.
